Take Me Home
by itsLisey
Summary: SEQUEL to "Nightingale". Ten years after Jane Rizzoli let Maura Isles walk out of her life, the surly, ex-detective is ready to do just about anything to keep the door from swinging shut again, but it may be too late.
1. Chapter 1

**This is a sequel to "Nightingale", although in my mind, Nightingale has always been more of a prequel to a larger story (which is this).**

**At this moment, with school being as it is, updates will be slow - likely once or twice a month. I suspect this story to be anywhere from 15-30 chapters. Updates will pick up again over the school break in December. I currently have several chapters completed but I want to have some ready ready so there is never a month without an update. **

**Thanks for reading. **

It had begun to snow. She watched from the window; a fine white dust blew from the roof and painted the air, individual pieces nestling into thin, almost invisible crevices of the trees, blades of grass and cracks in headstones. It was almost as chilly inside the small office as it was outside. The warm mug of coffee between her hands barely cracked the icy chill that grew from her toes to her forehead. Coffee. It was a pleasure she wished everyone could afford. She pressed the edge of the mug to her lips and hesitated, just for a few moments, just long enough that the smell of sweet hazelnut overwhelmed her and cleared her frosty mind. She then took a long sip. It wasn't Brazilian, but damn, it was good.

Brazil.

She missed it, despite being home in Boston for almost two years. It was odd; she could be doing the simplest of tasks, the most meaningless, like drinking a cup of coffee, and Brazil would come rushing back to her and a sudden, desperate longing grew from a seed nestled somewhere deep inside her. Mornings there were spent on the terrace of her rental home, a cup of coffee in one hand and, afterwards, sometimes she would splurge and have something sweet. Before Brazil, she never would have thought to eat chocolate before noon, but, after all, doing things she would never have done before was the point of the trip.

Indulge.

Reinvent yourself.

Exist without someone else being the reason.

Brazil taught her a lot and it gave her so much; a life away from Boston, a life away from expectations. Most importantly, it gave her Eden, and that was the best gift she had ever been given.

She heard the heater begin to hum and soon a fresh wave of warm, stuffy air blew from the vent on the floor. And though it didn't put even a dent in the temperature, Maura was warmed by the possibility of a semi-workable environment after, perhaps, an hour or two.

_This place is a dump,_ she thought, though it wasn't nearly as bad as it appeared. The moldy smell came and went, mostly with the rain, and the long cracks in the wall were so ancient that nobody paid much attention to them at all. Even the spotty, peeling paint had its charm. A few cans of light, baby blue paint sat in the corner; Maura had decided to spruce up the office, but the cold had kept her ambition at bay. All in all, she enjoyed working at the cemetery on the weekends. Sometimes Eden came in, too, which livened the place up considerably. Eden adored Marianna almost as much as Marianna adored Eden.

She sat down her mug and leaned against the desk, which creaked with age. Maura knew it was probably older and stronger than herself. It was thick, heavy wood, and so large that it seemed as though the room simply must have been built around it. It took up most of the small back office, allowing only just enough room to have a path from the door, to the window, and to the desk, which was pushed in a corner. Still cold, she fell into a kind of trance, mesmerized (or perhaps the coffee hadn't begun working yet) by the snow falling outside.

It wasn't until the tiny jingle of the door outside in the lobby shook her from her study of the snow. She had already begun to step towards the door when she heard something most peculiar.

It sounded like someone was asking for her by name.

"Maura Isles," she heard someone say. So she pushed open the door and stepped out, just as the person repeated herself once more. "I'm looking for Maura Dorthea Isles."

She first noticed Mariana, her wispy, salt-and-pepper hair tied into a loose bun. She was turned away from her, still staring at their guest, and Maura only had to look above Mariana's head (she was very short) to see a damp, svelte woman standing in their drab, faux-plant filled lobby, her eyes glued to Maura from the moment the door had swung shut.

It was Jane Rizzoli, and it looked like she had just seen a ghost.


	2. Chapter 2

**Here is the November update. I hope you enjoy. **

She was wet, angry, bitterly cold and her body ached. The woman behind the desk stared at her, her brow eyes sparkling a bit, her old tan skin crinkling in surprise. The door behind her swung open and Jane looked up, hoping for someone else to find Maura's grave. Her impatience was growing. The first thing she noticed when she looked up was startling green eyes, wide in surprise.

Her heart leapt.

She shook her head slightly and her mouth parted. Maura?

She was so much tanner than she had been ten years prior. Milk white porcelain skin was gone and replaced with a warm, glowing, sandy complexion. Not too dark, but a stark difference. It made her eyes pop out even more, the flecks of gold a little less noticeable but the green as potent and sharp as poison. Her hair was a little lighter than Jane remembered but the tame waves still framed her face and spilled down her back and over her shoulders, and, lengthwise, it was nearly halfway to her waist. The entire room seemed to fill up with Maura; the perfume she used to wear, her coconut shampoo, her laughter, the sound of her crying, the shake of her hips.

Her legs shook a little as she walked to the edge of the counter. _Better light, _she thought desperately. _I need better light. Is this a trick? Is this a sick joke? _But the closer she got, the more real Maura became. Jane let her hands fall to her side and her mouth fall open.

"Can I help you, miss?" said the woman, her eyes darting back and forth between Jane and 10-years-later Maura Isles. Jane let her gaze drops towards her; took in her salt-and-pepper hair, tiny mouth and slightly-gaunt, yet slightly-rounded face. She looked kind. Jane wanted to apologize for her previous impatience, and now for her rudeness, but words seemed foreign. She had no words for what she was feeling. She had nothing but the current moment.

Maura, in all her slender, slid forward from the doorway she was standing in and came to the edge of the counter. If Jane wanted, she could touch her. And Jane wanted. She wanted to let her fingertips slip down Maura's soft-as-butter cheeks, wrap tendrils of sun-warmed butterscotch colored hair around her fingers. She wanted to feel her, commit her to memory. She did not want to leave room for Maura to leave her again.

It all hit her so quickly.

"Jane?" Her voice, even in a single word, overflowed with a nervous tremor.

"You're not dead."

Of all the things to say first. Maura look taken aback. The growing nerves in Jane's stomach leapt to her throat. She forced herself to swallow them back down. Then Maura, who was, as Jane remembered, a master of composure, lifted her chin and turned away, her eyes focused on Marianna. In an almost royal fashion, she announced that she would be taking a meeting in the office, and her small hands lifted the part of the counter that acted as a door. She waved Jane in.

Once inside the office, the door closed behind them.

"Forgive me if this is a bit too blunt, but what are you doing here, Jane?"

"Looking for you."

"Well I am exceptionally happy that you've found me alive and well."

Jane bit back her frustration. "Your mother told me I could find you at this address. She didn't tell me it was a graveyard. When I pulled up... I assumed..."

Maura's eyes softened. "That was cruel of her. I'm sorry. She hasn't been herself since my father died."

"Your dad died?"

"A few weeks ago."

"I'm sorry." said Jane. She was so sorry. Maura nodded and looked away. Ten years ago, Jane wouldn't have let her do that - she wouldn't have let her hide, swallow her tears. She would tuck Maura safely in her arms. She would let her cry. She wouldn't let her run and be alone. Jane found it remarkably difficult to stay where she was standing, feet firmly planted to the ground. "Maura..."

Silence wedged into the space between them. Jane let her eyes drift around the office but not for long; she was almost afraid, as illogical as it was, that if she were to take her eyes off Maura for too long, the woman would vanish once again. The most she noticed in her quick surveillance of the room was that the desk was piled with papers and the computer was still off.

Maura broke the silence. "I guess I don't know what to say." She paused. "Why were you looking for me? I mean, it's been years..."

"Yeah, it has. That's exactly why."

"Jane."

"No, you're right. It's been years. And I should've done this sooner, Maura." Jane shuffled back and forth on her feet; her hands twitched nervously against her hip, and soon she found herself falling back into the old habit of wringing her hands together. The subconscious habit had made itself more and more pronounced as of late. "I should never have let you go."

Sucking in a deep breath, Maura looked away. "Ah, so we're just jumping right into it."

"There's no point in avoiding it, Maura. We haven't seen each other in ten years and I'm the reason why."

"I'm the one that chose to leave."

"I'm the one that made you go." said Jane, her intonation hard and fast. She felt her heartbeat pick up; _don't argue with me, let me win this one, _she thought. And Maura seemed to hear her, because her eyes blinked twice and Maura shook her head, as if clearing her thoughts, and then she leaned up against the wall.

"Marianna owns this place." replied Maura casually, still avoiding direct eye contact. Jane, though, kept her eyesight forward, hoping to catch even a glimpse of whatever Maura was thinking; her eyes had always been so expressive. "Her late husband was the owner, actually, and when he passed, she decided to keep it. I help on the weekends. Her filing system is, well," she waved her hands towards the desk. "I try and help where I can."

"And how do you know her?"

"I..."

_Damn. _Maura clammed up; her arms wrapped around her middle. Jane watched Maura fidget. There had been an opening, and Jane knew that she leapt towards it too quickly. She took a step back to allow Maura more space in the small room.

"You know, it's a long story, actually."

"Maybe you could tell it to me. Over lunch. You know, when you're free."

"Jane, I don't know."

"Casey and I divorced." A hail Mary. "I'm not here to, to _win you back _or anything like that... I just, you know, Maura? I just want you in my life again. In any way you'll allow it. There is not an appropriate word in the dictionary to describe me and what shitty, awful choice I made back then, and what I did to you. And if there were, I'm sure you could tell me it, because that's the kind of person I hope that you still are. But I'm here. I'm here and I don't want to leave."

Maura was silent.

Jane was not above begging.

"Just lunch. At least one lunch. Please."

Their eyes met, and Jane felt hopeful.


End file.
